I didn’t get round to trying to book a table for tonight until Sunday, by
which time all reasonable slots within a ten-mile radius had long gone. “But
what’s wrong with eating at 10.45pm?” I asked my wife, “the Spanish do it,
it’ll be kinda cool and funky.” She remained unimpressed. So instead we
ended up going out last night. Which is to say, at the time of writing,
tonight. I’m sure that it went well.

Whatever the evidence of the cock-up on the table reservation front, I like
Valentine’s Day. I like Mother’s Day too. I don’t much like